


stay young, made of lightning

by transit (dollyeo)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domesticity, Kid Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyeo/pseuds/transit
Summary: A few times Minghao had to deal with his daughter crying, or: scenes from a life.





	stay young, made of lightning

1.

 

 

The crying from the baby monitor is what wakes Minghao up in the middle of the night.

He lifts his head up from the pillow, squinting across the room to check the time. Two in the morning, the glow-in-the-dark numbers read, and Minghao's sorely tempted to groan and go back to sleep. Behind him, his sleeping lump of a husband is snoring faintly, keeping Minghao trapped in a tight embrace. Mingyu's always been a cuddler since they were younger, only he's traded the body pillows and the bunched-up comforters for Minghao's skin and bones. Not a fair trade, Minghao supposes, even if Mingyu adamantly proclaims otherwise.

The sobbing on the other end doesn't stop, only pausing in tiny hiccups of breath before pitching higher into a wail. It's times like this that Minghao hates being a light sleeper and wishes he could have gotten Mingyu's ability to sleep through an earthquake without difficulty; a zombie apocalypse could come, and Mingyu would just drool in his pillow as the hordes of undead loomed over him.

It doesn't stop Minghao from trying to wake him up, though; Mingyu just grunts and rolls over, pinning Minghao under his weight. Minghao looks at the ceiling and prays for patience.

He shoves Mingyu off of him, abandoning gentleness. Mingyu barely lets up on his snoring. With a roll of his eyes, Minghao pushes himself off of the bed and feels around for slippers, then the light in the hallway. He makes his way to the other room, right next to theirs. The door is left ajar, a faint speck of light from the nightlight filtering through the crack, blue and bright. He opens the door wider and steps in.

His daughter's sitting up in the crib, rubbing at her eyes. When she catches sight of Minghao, her lower lip wobbles, slightly; she reaches out her arms and whimpers until he takes her into his arms.

At sixteen months, Ahra's stubborn about articulation, preferring to drag out faint sounds and babbling instead of listening to Mingyu's desperate begging to be called _appa_ , but Minghao's not too worried; he'd been a quiet child, too, his mother told him, as they waited for Ahra to be released from the hospital. She'd learn in time, when she feels like it. It will come.

Now, though, Minghao can't wait for Ahra to sleep through a week without waking him up in the process. Once, he'd brought her back to bed with him, waiting for her to fall asleep between him and Mingyu, but he'd woken up to a wet spot the next morning and Ahra badly needing a change of diapers too. He wonders if Ahra will ever feel the need to crawl into bed with them to hide away from the monsters in her closet, like Junhui's son does. He hopes he's potty-trained her by then.

"I can't wait for you to grow up a bit more," he sighs, kissing the top of her head; her hair is still wispy and thin, the back of her head soft and cool to the touch. "Maybe then we'll finally get a bit of sleep around here, right, Ahra?"

Ahra smacks her lips against Minghao's shirt, fussing at the collar. She's quiet, for now, but with the way she's nosing at his chest, he knows she's hungry. He sighs and wonders if Mingyu's remembered to rinse out some of the bottles in the sink from last night.

"Definitely can't wait," Minghao decides, and carries her to the kitchen in search of milk, and maybe a bracing shot of something vaguely alcoholic or caffeinated to get him through the rest of the night.

 

 

2.

 

 

"No."

Ahra wilts in her corner of the room, then takes a deep breath. She looks at him with wet eyes, like he's betrayed her; Minghao can feel a migraine coming on, for the nth time that week.

"But—" She tries, and Minghao shakes his head.

"No buts," says Minghao, tone brooking no argument. She looks vaguely mutinous, but knows better than to yell; the last time she did, he'd made her stay in her room for far longer. She'd cried and clung to Mingyu after, then, and Mingyu had just looked at her helplessly, ever the softer one. Coddling, more like.

"I hate you," Ahra whimpers, curling her fingers into a tiny fist. She presses her palms to her eyes, rubbing furiously until her skin turns red. "I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you_!"

Minghao sighs, and bites his lip. Between the two of them, it's Mingyu that's the good cop. "I can't stand it when she cries," he always says in his defense. As if Mingyu didn't sleep like a log during her most trying times, Minghao thinks, dryly, but doesn't say it.

"You think it's easy for me, too?" Minghao asks, because it's not. Watching her face crumple into distress, far from the usual brightness in her eyes, the coy curl of her lip—it makes Minghao's chest ache, and breaks his heart every time. He doesn't want to be _that_ parent, but it's not like he has a choice. If he lets Mingyu give in to everything she wants, she'll end up far too spoiled.

"Fifteen minutes," Minghao tells her, and tries not to feel too crushed at the strained stiffness of her shoulder, the way she turns her back to him and sulks in her stool. This, too, is a learning experience. He just wishes it didn't hurt this much, like a fresh, open wound.

"It's fine," says Mingyu, touching the small of his back and rubbing at the muscles rigid with tension. He sags into Mingyu's touch, shuddering. "She'll forget about it tomorrow."

 _But I won't_ , he thinks, biting his lip. Mingyu tells him he takes things so seriously that he gets too hard on himself, and maybe he's right. He wonders if it ever gets any easier, being the bad cop. Maybe it never does.

 

 

3.

 

 

It's seven in the evening, and it's quiet in the house, save for the faint hint of music from the stereo.

It's strange. Around this time, Ahra would usually be in the kitchen, furiously coloring outside the lines while Mingyu cooked dinner and Minghao went through his students' papers with a pen. He'd opted for green instead of red, if only to spare them the distress, but after Mingyu peeked at his corrections, he'd just tossed his head back and wondered if the color even made a difference.

Now, though, Ahra's sleeping over at a friend's house, and he and Mingyu have the whole night for themselves. "It's weird," says Minghao, as Mingyu holds him close, letting their bodies sway to the music. "I keep looking around and expecting to see Ahra getting up to no good, but there's no one there."

"I told you we should get a dog," says Mingyu. "She's not even in college and you're already getting empty nest syndrome."

"Both of you would just play with it and leave the cleaning up after me," says Minghao.

"You know," says Mingyu, loftily, "you _are_ very good with dealing with puppies."

"Flatterer," says Minghao, without heat. "You just want to score brownie points with Ahra for her birthday."

"I don't need to," says Mingyu, sounding far too pleased himself. "She already likes me better anyway."

If they were younger and cockier, Minghao would have snapped at him that he was far too full of himself. Older now, and more indulgent, he just rests the pads of his thumbs on Mingyu's hips and tilts his head up to nose at his neck.

"Well," says Minghao, pressing a tiny kiss to Mingyu's jaw and relishing in the way Mingyu's breath hitches, "I like you best."

The moment is shattered when the phone rings, in the distance. Mingyu sighs, aggrieved, but lets Minghao go. "If that's Jun-hyung, I'm gonna be so pissed," says Mingyu.

It's not. It's Mrs. Park, the mom of Ahra's friend, and she sounds apologetic. "I'm so sorry for the disturbance," she says, "but Ahra's a bit upset. She insisted on calling."

"She's not used to sleepovers yet," Minghao sighs. Mingyu sends him a questioning look, and Minghao mouths at him to grab their wallets and the car keys. "Could you put her on the phone for a sec?"

There's a rustling noise in the background, and a bit of hushed whispering. A few seconds later, Minghao hears a shaky sniffle and a meek, "dad?"

"Hi baby," says Minghao, tightening his hold on the phone. "How are you?"

"Wanna go home," Ahra croaks out. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, one that has his chest feels like something in it is clenching, clogged up. "Pick me up?"

"Are you sure you don't wanna spend time with your friends a bit longer, darling?" He asks, even if he's already reaching for his coat.

"I miss my bed," says Ahra, mulishly. She hesitates for a moment, before saying, "and I miss you and papa too."

"Okay, sweetie," says Minghao. "We'll be there in a bit."

"Hurry, daddy," says Ahra. She pauses, like she's contemplating something of great importance, and he's straining his ears, intent to listen, he doesn't realize he's held his breath until she speaks again. "And can you get me a Happy Meal on your way here?"

He laughs. "Sure, honey," he says. "Anything you want."

 

 

4.

 

 

It's dark in the apartment when he comes home.

He fumbles around for the light switch, and toes off his shoes in the foyer. It's been a while since he's come home to an empty apartment, and it's strange— around this time, Ahra's usually back from cram school, and Mingyu would be getting a head start on dinner as Ahra whined about her homework. Taking in the silence, Minghao wonders if maybe Mingyu's right about maybe needing to get a pet one of these days. Maybe they're just not good with dealing with being alone anymore, after more than a decade of being in each other's space.

He's changed into more comfortable clothes and defrosting a pack of beef for later when the front door clicks open, and then promptly gets slammed. Footsteps thunder through the hallway, straight to bedrooms, and he opens his mouth to yell at Ahra but thinks better of it when he spots her red-rimmed eyes as she stalks past him.

He shoots off a quick text to Mingyu to bring home a slice of cake from that bakery Ahra likes, the sting of irritation soon dampened by worry. He brings out a carton of strawberry milk from the fridge, and wonders what it is that’s wrong. _Please don't let it be a boy_ , he thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Or even a girl, really. He's never been great at consoling anyone with love problems, and the idea of Ahra even dating is an added layer of _nope_ that he's not too eager to dwell on any longer, if at all.

He finds Ahra face-down and spread-eagled on her bed, long hair a mess and uniform still in place. She's clutching a pillow to her face, and for a moment he almost thinks she's asleep, if only the shaking of her shoulders didn't give her away.

"Ahra?" He calls out warily, and Ahra's back muscles stiffen. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she mutters, voice stroppy and wet even as she squares her shoulders. She buries her face into her pillow, squeezing it tighter. "Go away."

"Ahra," he says, sharply.

She sighs, aggrieved, and raises her head long enough to scowl at him. "Go away, _please_."

Mingyu likes to joke that he and Ahra are too alike when they cry, betraying nothing like it would kill them if anyone caught them in any state less than perfect, even turning prickly and on the offensive if pressed. "A rock," Mingyu decides, "or maybe a glacier is more like it. Either way, you're both really bad at talking about your feelings." And then he just laughs at them like he's just made the funniest joke in the world, even if no one else really gets it.

Mingyu's the type to cry easily at everything, though, all tears and snot in the middle of a romantic comedy while Minghao and Ahra just look at each other with dry eyes and perplexed expressions, so Minghao doesn't really take him too seriously whenever he says it. Now, though, he wonders if Mingyu's right. After all, it's Mingyu's who's the one who understands adolescent girls a bit more, considering he's grown up with a younger sister. The first time Ahra had gotten her period, Mingyu had just taken it in stride and went to the convenience store to get her a pack of pads, a couple of chocolate bars and something warm to drink, all while Minghao fretted and fussed, meekly telling Ahra he was half-sure she wasn't going to bleed to death and die. Being comforting's always been Mingyu's strong point, not his.

It used to be so much easier to console Ahra when she was younger— feed her, change her diapers, give her a toy, hold her close, and that was it, problem solved. Now, every little thing seems to set her off, and sometimes he and Ahra have sulking, protracted silences that have Mingyu stuck trying to play the mediator with their stubbornness. Of all the things she had to get from him, it had to be this.

"Who do we have to kill?" He tries. The joke falls flat, and Ahra just looks at him like she wants to roll her eyes.

"Oh my god," says Ahra. "This is why I never let you meet any of my friends."

"I thought you didn't want us to meet them because they had a crush on papa?"

Ahra makes a face like she wants to gag. It's true; Mingyu's always been attractive, hopelessly so— the first time Minghao met him, he'd been besotted until Mingyu had opened his mouth. Older, now, and he's still boyishly handsome, even as he keeps complaining about finding grey hairs every day. Minghao can't blame Ahra's friends for having excellent taste. He'd married Mingyu, after all.

"If this is you trying to be comforting, let's not," says Ahra, dryly. She shoves her face back into the surface of her pillow, like she's trying to suffocate herself with it. "Just give me an hour to have my meltdown in peace, okay? I'll be fine. Trust me."

 _I know you will be_ , he thinks. _If you're anything like me, you'll be okay_. Still, it doesn't make it easier to not feel like his heart is breaking when she isn't. 

He's bad with words of comfort, though; he'll have to wait for Mingyu to come home and coax her out of this funk. He sets the strawberry milk by her desk, and pets the top of her head, stroking gently. She rolls her head to the side to face him, and he rubs at her cheek, where the tears have dried.

"Half an hour," he haggles. "And then we can put a horror movie on to scare your papa when he gets back."

Her eyes crinkle in glee, even as her nose is red and the whites of her eyes are still pink from too much crying. "Sounds like a plan," she says, cracking a smile at him.

It's enough for now.

 

 

5.

 

 

"Are you an idiot?"

Minghao looks up from his phone, too tired to even scold Ahra for being rude. "Hello to you too, sweetheart," he says, dryly.

"What were you even thinking," she hisses, looming over him instead of taking a seat right beside the bed. Mingyu had been the sole occupant of it for hours, at least until Junhui had convinced him to go home and get his bearings; he wonders how long it took any of them to realize they'd forgotten to tell Ahra about his emergency, ever since she moved out for uni.

Then again, it must have taken Mingyu a while to even bring himself to tell her why, exactly, Minghao had to be rushed to the hospital in the middle of the day. In their twenties, it would have been exciting to tell the staff in the ER that he might have gotten a concussion from slipping and falling in the shower after a particularly aggressive bout of sex; at fifty, though, it's just embarrassing and a pain in the ass.

He wonders if their insurance even covers it. He's already dreading having to broach the topic to the unfortunate soul that has to assist them eventually.

"Well, darling," says Minghao, with as much serenity as he could muster, doped up on painkillers and possibly all the drugs in the pharmacy that Mingyu could stow away for him. His head lolls around on his pillow, and he smiles at her, crooked and slow. "When two people love each other very much—"

"First of all, you two are too old to get into any sex-induced injuries," says Ahra, rolling her eyes. "Second, _gross_ , I don't wanna know what you and papa get up to when I'm not around."

"In my defense, it was his idea," says Minghao.

" _You're_ supposed to be the voice of reason here," says Ahra, making a face. "Haven't we established that both of you are a little too old to be acting like you're horny college kids?"

She sounds so disgusted by it, even as she pushes at his hip to make him scoot over; she tucks herself against the space between his side and the edge of the bed, curling up against him like she's four and asking him to let her watch cartoons on his tablet instead of a bedtime story. He crooks an arm around her shoulders, rubbing small circles along her arm.

"I swear, you two are going to take so many years out of my life," she continues muttering, hitting his arm. "I had to run out of a three-hour bio lab when papa called me. You two are _the worst_."

"Aren't you happy your parents are still in love and have a healthy sex life?" He asks, amused. The furrow in her brow deepens, utterly disgusted. He laughs.

"Hardly," she scoffs. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, hiding her face, and he thinks he can feel her sniffle against his jaw. "Thanks for almost giving me a heart attack, dad."

"I'm fine," he says. "My pride's a little wounded, but I'm alive, aren't I?"

She lifts her head, long enough to glare at him. "I'll never forgive you if you die on me before you walk me down the aisle," she says, eyes bright and wet with tears.

"Don't worry," he says, pecking her brow. "I'll make sure to haunt you if I do."

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on doing this for a different exchange but alas, this didn't feel right for the intended recipient's request _(:3/_)_ back to the drawing board it is, then. I hope you enjoy this, though!


End file.
